Don't Let Him Out: A Farce
by Adelphia Savanya Moore
Summary: Harry yells too much in OOtP. I think Hogwarts should teach him to keep his voice down (this is a true, Monty Python-style farce)
1. I Do Love A Good Closet!

"Don't Let Him Out: A Farce"  
  
A rant by; Adelphia Savanya Moore`  
  
~inspired by John Cleese in "Fawlty Towers" (episode 10: The Anniversary)~  
  
Rating: PG-13 (reference to substance abuse, language)  
  
Written: Aug 14th, 2003  
  
Summary: Harry yells a lot in OOtP, and it gets on my nerves . a lot . a lot, a lot! So now, I'm getting back at him for yelling at a first year Huffelpuff. This is a farce-the intent of a farce is to start off normal and boring, and end up with some wild and crazy predicament for the main character to dig himself out of. Hope you enjoy!  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own them in a box, I do not own them with a fox, I do not own them while I'm bowling, they all belong to (that evil) J.K. Rowling. I also don't own Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover, or Harry's Closet, but I DO OWN the Convivial Hunting Horde AND Fred's strainer. (I promise, you'll understand all that by the time I'm done!)  
  
So now, without further adu .  
  
The Inciting incident  
  
"Um . Harry Potter?" the first year Huffelpuff mumbled, pulling  
tentatively on the back of Harry's robes. They were in the middle of the  
entrance hall.  
  
"What?" He snapped, turning abruptly and fixing the tiny boy with a venomous glare.  
  
Hermione shook her head. Harry had been touchy like his all week. So what if three or four people were calling him a liar, giving him a hard time, he should simple act his age and deal with it! He had no right to take his anger out on everyone around him, least of all his friends, . and innocent Huffelpuff first years, by all means .  
  
"What?" Harry nearly snarled, tapping his foot, crossing his arms, and raising a hawk-like eyebrow. His glasses slipped down his nose, and he peered down them menacingly.  
  
"Well, I . uh, I was just wondering ...what exactly makes you think HE's back, . exactly?"  
  
'Oh, he's gone an' done it, now,' thought Ron, the voice in his head even more agitated that the last time Harry blew a gasket and three-quarters at an innocent bystander (just after History Of Magic that morning). Ron steeled himself for the eminent explosion of sound, covering his somewhat protrubent ears and retreating with Hermione and several other seasoned Harry-veterans.  
  
"What?" Harry said for a third time. He scanned the first year and noticed a copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in his little fist. Harry's gaze flicked upward to meet the boy's big blue eyes set in a chubby face. Harry sneered.  
  
"Your parent's let you read that garbage?" Harry's voice was slowly rising in volume. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides. The boy stared defiantly back.  
  
"Gimmie that," Harry blurted tightly, and snatched up the paper-he set fire to it with his wand. The tiny Huffelpuff moved as though to protest Harry's actions, but Harry had him by the wrist before he could take a step forward.  
  
"DON'T YOU READ THIS!" Harry bellowed. "THIS IS ABSOLUTE GARBAGE! YOU GOT THAT-GARBAGE!" Harry shook the burning Prophet vigorously, inches from the little kid's nose, twisting his tiny wrist painfully. The boy whined and whimpered, big wet tears welling up in his eyes. "YOU GOT THAT, YOU STUPID LITTLE PRAT? GARBAGE!" The boy started bawling openly as he made louder, more pitiful noises. "ANSWER ME, YOU BLOODY GIT, YOU!"  
  
Hermione sprang forward from the now assembling crowd, holding high her prefect's badge. Ron snatched her around the waist and pulled her back with a hand over her mouth. She fought him, but he was much taller and stronger that she.  
  
"Herm," he said in a low whisper, tightening his grip as she struggled to stop Harry's tantrum. "If we lay low, maybe he won't notice us. It'll be the first time he's yelled at someone besides us! Think about it! He's always yell-yuck!" Ron dropped her like a viper. Hermione sped away from him to stop Harry, who was screaming something about Verrataserum while viciously beating the bloody hell out of a fairly large Slytherin sixth year. Teenaged boys were jeering and cheering while most of the girls had run off crying. Ron absentmindedly wiped his hand on the shoulder of a Ravenclaw fourth year boy, who was too engaged making bets on the ensuing punching match to notice Ron's defilement of his robes-Hermione, in her escape, had licked his hand. He grimaced.  
  
"IMPEDIMENTA! STUPEFY! Assio glasses-" Hermione summoned Harry's glasses and hung them crookedly on his immobilized face. Hermione waved her wand once more and, with a loud bang, snake-like cords bound Harry's wrists and arms.  
  
"Should I go and report this, Hermione?" asked Lavender Brown.  
  
"No, no ." Hermione sighed heavily. "I think I'll have to take care of this one personally, thanks, Lavender." Hermione sighed again.  
  
"Come back and fight me you pureblood bastards!!!"  
  
Harry was screaming again. Hermione flicked her wand and gagged him. She flicked again, and the gag tightened. She nodded, satisfied. Harry mumbled through the thick fabric, eyes bulging at the chortling Slytherin backs.  
  
Ron marched over to Harry, and put him directly into a half nelson.  
  
"I'm pureblood, git," Ron hissed in Harry's ear and released him abruptly. Harry staggered backward, then flushed in embarrassment, suddenly finding the floor pattern positively diverting. Ron stormed up the marble staircase.  
  
Hermione dragged Harry up the stairs with her, lecturing him all the way at the top of her lungs.  
  
~ * ~ * ~  
  
1B I Do Love a Good Closet  
  
"I don't see why yeh have to yell all the time, mate," Ron told Harry in front of the common room fire after Hermione had agreed to "un-gag" him.  
  
"DON'T YOU START WITH ME! YOU THINK YOU'RE ALL HIGH AND MIGHTY NOW, MR. PREFECT ! GAME'S UP, RON! YOU'RE NOT MY FRIEND! IF YOU WERE A HALF- DECENT FRIEND, YOU'D STAND BEHIND ME INSTEAD OF PUNNISH ME, YOU STUPID, PHONY GIT! YOU'RE-"  
  
Something yellow flew into Harry's mouth, and he immediately started puking all over the common room. Fred and George approached, bearing the blue antidote between them like the Ark of the Covenant parting a river of puke and crying first-through-third-year girls.  
  
"No one calls our brother a phony git," George began.  
  
"Except us," Fred interrupted. "Apologize."  
  
Harry opened his mouth and yacked dangerously close to Fred's shoe.  
  
"He's got the projectile of a pansy," George commented offhandedly, loud enough for the whole common room to eavesdrop on.  
  
Harry narrowly missed George's pant leg.  
  
"Apologize, slime," Fred ordered, waving the antidote.  
  
Harry spewed a few feet away from several first and second year girls, who started crying a-fresh.  
  
"Now, or we won't give it to you," Fred warned.  
  
Harry yacked on his own shoes as he hung his head in defeat. This seemed enough for Fred, who threw the blue chunk at Harry and shouted "SCOURGIFY!"  
  
Harry straightened up and stared, unseeingly, around the common room. Many of the younger girls turned away from him and continued sniffing, while being comforted by the second and third year boys.  
  
"FINE! SCOFF AT ME-SEE IF I CARE!" Harry's eyes bulged insanely as he screamed. "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU ALL! YOU STUPID, FAT, PIMPLY-FACED LITTLE- " Harry swore so badly that there was a collective gasp from the room; many girls burst into tears, and many boys jumped up with raised fists.  
  
Hermione grabbed harry swiftly by the arm and steered him across the common room . and into a broom closet. She produced a glass of water, poured it over his head, and slammed the door in his face, locking it with a foreign and no doubt advanced charm.  
  
"Now," she told the common room in a huff, "don't let him out-he'll only upset you."  
  
A/N: I've written up to chapter 4 on paper, and this is by far the longest. I'll have the next chapters up ASAP! Please review, even if you just want to yell at me and say I'm not funny, I really don't care . =) ASM` 


	2. It's A Guy Thing

"Don't Let Him Out: A Farce"  
  
A rant by; Adelphia Savanya Moore`  
  
~inspired by John Cleese in "Fawlty Towers" (episode 10: The Anniversary)~  
  
Rating: PG-13 (reference to substance abuse, language)  
  
Written: Aug 14th, 2003  
  
Summary: It starts sounding more like a John Cleese-inspired farce when Ron and Hermione have to cover for the madness of Mr. Potter.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own them in a box, I do not own them with a fox, I do not own them while I'm bowling, they all belong to (that evil) J.K. Rowling. I also don't own Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover, or Harry's Closet, but I DO OWN the Convivial Hunting Horde AND Fred's strainer. (I promise, you'll understand all that in due time)  
  
So now .  
  
It's a Guy Thing  
  
"Where on earth is Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonnigal inquired of  
Hermione at breakfast-Hermione had not yet reported Harry's tantrum-  
incident of the night before, to which Ron sighed. At least Harry  
couldn't yell at him for that.  
  
The night before, Ron and all of Gryffindor tower fell asleep to the sound of Harry thrashing about in his closet. When Ron had come down, at three in the morning, to shut him up, Harry began insulting Ron . and Ron's entire family! Fred and George, at the sound of their names, popped their heads out of their dormitory door and, accompanied by rude hand-gestures Harry was lucky he could not see, declared war on the Quite mad Mr. Potter.  
  
"He's . uh-upstairs," Hermione blurted awkwardly in response to McGonnigal's question. McGonnigal pursed her lips deep in thought.  
  
"He's . feeling a little under the weather, he is," Ron added, making the story a bit more plausible.  
  
"Sick?" McGonnigal questioned. "Well, then, we'd best send him to Madam Pomphrey, mustn't we?"  
  
"Oh, no! That-that won't be necessary, " Hermione spluttered.  
  
"Well, I certainly must see him, as his head of house!"  
  
"Uh-Professor? You-" Ron thrashed about his brain for some sort of excuse. "You shouldn't go up there."  
  
"I dare-say, why not, Mr. Weasley?"  
  
"Well, Professor . well, you're . you're a girl." Ron said simply, kicking himself the moment the words left his mouth. He didn't need Hermione's kick as well.  
  
"Weasley," McGonnigal said severely, "as you may recall, I have been in the boy's dormitory on multiple occasions, as is my privilege as a teacher." She pressed onward. " I must see him. What's wrong with him, anyway?"  
  
"Uh." Ron blinked, "it's a guy thing."  
  
"Would he prefer if I sent Professor Flitwick, or perhaps Professor Snape?"  
  
"Oh no, no! Not that kink of 'guy thing'-uh"  
  
McGonnigal turned to Hermione.  
  
"Did his girlfriend leave him?" she asked curtly.  
  
Hermione nodded fervently. Ron sighed and chomped down on a piece of toast.  
  
A/N: I think the farce is getting a bit more John Cleese, . the next chapter is "The Hunt is On" Sound good? Just you wait! 


	3. The Hunt Is On!

"Don't Let Him Out: A Farce"  
  
A rant by; Adelphia Savanya Moore`  
  
~inspired by John Cleese in "Fawlty Towers" (episode 10: The Anniversary)~  
  
Rating: PG-13 (reference to substance abuse, language)  
  
Written: Aug 16th, 2003  
  
Summary: "The Farce" thickens for poor Mr. Ronald Weasley.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own them in a box, I do not own them with a fox, I do not own them while I'm bowling, they all belong to (that evil) J.K. Rowling. I also don't own Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover, or Harry's Closet, but I DO OWN the Convivial Hunting Horde AND Fred's strainer. (I promise, you'll understand all that in due time)  
  
Tuck In .  
  
The Hunt Is On  
  
Harry was no longer spluttering from his closet. Ron was getting  
nervous.  
  
"Oy, git!" Ron hollered in the closet's direction.  
  
There was no response.  
  
"Rich prat in the closet!"  
  
Nothing.  
  
"What" You got Cho Chang in there with ya?"  
  
Still . nothing.  
  
Ron stood up and walked to Harry's cell. He stretched out a hand to  
the doorknob, and the door swung, ominously, open. No harry-empty  
closet-no Harry-No Harry!  
  
Ron fell to the floor, clutching at his chest and making odd,  
resonating, guttural noises. Hermione looked up form her newspaper.  
  
"Ron-I'm trying to read-are you alright?"  
  
Ron rolled over, his eyes bloodshot and popping. He gasped loudly and  
dramatically.  
  
"No, I'm dying . but don't get up, or anythin'!"  
  
"Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Stop being so melodramatic!" She  
went back to the paper.  
  
"Herm . HARRY'S GONE!!!"  
  
"Batten down the hatches!" shouted George.  
  
"Search the Dorms-question the Fat Lady!" Fred yelled over his twin.  
  
"I'm not 'fat,' I'm big boned!" The Fat Lady said rather indignantly  
as someone opened the portrait hole.  
  
"Well, geese! The plaque on her frame says "The Fat Lady," what the  
bloody hell does she expect?" George muttered to Neville, who giggled  
appreciatively.  
  
No one could find Harry. Boys and girls came streaming out of their  
respective dormitories, wands out, on the alert. Fred, George, and  
Lee were running out the portrait hole.  
  
"We're off for gear and provisions!" Lee shouted over his shoulder as  
he sprinted out of sight.  
  
"Let the Hunt BEGIN!" Fred and George screamed.  
  
~ * ~ * ~  
  
"Oh, no you don't!" George snarled.  
  
"He's MY stupid git of a friend-I'm coming with," Ron snarled right back.  
  
"Fine! Let's just get moving, already!" George shouted as he jumped out of the portrait hole once more.  
  
"He can't come!" Fred said with a jovial, sarcastic indigence. "He's not properly attired!" For, indeed, George wore a green tupperware bowl on his head, Fred a dented and rusty metal strainer, and Lee a helmet he pilfered from a local suit of armor. The only thing with which to identify him were his dreadlocks protruding oddly from the air-holes, which didn't seem to bother him at all.  
  
THHWAAAAANNG!  
  
Fred cracked a saucepan over Ron's head with all his seventeen- year-old-beater might.  
  
"Welcome to 'The Convivial Hunting Horde!'" the twins chimed.  
  
A/N: Chapter 4, "Unlikely Alliances" will be up sometime soon (next 28 hours!). have fun! 


	4. Unlikely Alliances

"Don't Let Him Out: A Farce"  
  
A rant by; Adelphia Savanya Moore`  
  
~inspired by John Cleese in "Fawlty Towers" (episode 10: The Anniversary)~  
  
Rating: PG-13 (abuse of Mrs. Skower's, Parry Hwotter's foul mouth)  
  
Written: Aug 16th, 2003  
  
Summary: Exactly what the title sounds like .  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own them in a box, I do not own them with a fox, I do not own them while I'm bowling, they all belong to (that evil) J.K. Rowling. I also don't own Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover (though I would be VERY POPULAR if I did . you'll get that later!), but I DO OWN the Convivial Hunting Horde, Fred's strainer, and the word "dollop" when used as a verb. The Madonna song was written by the wonderful people of "Chelsea's Cabaret" in Washington DC. Aluminum-foil hats originate from the goofy little kid in "Signs." (M. Night Shamalan, who also wrote the screen-play for STUART LITTLE . go figure! I guess everyone's gotta pay the bills)  
  
I love the 80's .  
  
Unlikely Alliances  
  
Parry Hwotter dolloped on down the conga-line hall-a-way-a. (unaware  
of the formation of the Convivial Hunting Horde)  
  
Dollop, dollop-hiccup-dollop! He had a mango, and dolloped on over to the Sam-beer of Cheekawitts and snatch-a-minns the bwassalisk's skin-zie. (the head of which he now wore as a turban, rather lie Quirrel)  
  
(AN: Think about it! Think really hard! . QUEER!!! . , isn't it?)  
  
"Parry Hwotter" had been cooped up in his closet for over eight hours. He had found a bucket to piss in, but there was nothing to eat- nothing to drink . except, that is, Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover.  
  
Dollop, dollop, chicken-hiccup-wing, dollop!  
  
The conga-line cha-cha Cheetah Rivera corridor took on a reddish-purple tinge. Hueghy-dumpling SHIT!  
  
A boy-ish voice was singing:  
  
"Why's Madonna kissing Santa Clause?  
She loves his team or reindeer and his whips!"  
  
Hwotter jumped! Prune-dingo! Someone else had also drunk Mrs.  
Skower's Magical Mess Remover, because Parry had the EXACT same song  
caught in his head, too! He belted:  
  
"She saw some mistletoe,  
He told her 'No means no.'"  
  
"She laid down in the snow," they sang slurredly together.  
"And told him 'just say ho, ho, hoe .'"  
  
They met in the middle of cha-ching stairway, and took hands:  
  
"Why's Madonna ."  
  
~ * ~ FOGHORN ~ * ~  
  
"-ing Santa Clause?  
Don't sweat it Santa Baby, that's your BIZ!  
Poor Rudolph hurt his paw,  
On Madonna's pointy bra! ."  
  
Harry Potter and Peeves the Poltergeist proceeded to Polka down the  
purple gingham steps.  
  
~ * ~ * ~ Part B ~ * ~ * ~  
  
Fred, George, Ron, and Lee, none of whom had downed two and a half quarts of Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover (well, in the past 48 to72 hours, anyway!), had just been joined by none other than Neville Longbottom, also Mrs. Skower's-free.  
  
" . an' what is THAT on yeh head?" Lee finished his opening rant to Neville.  
  
"It's an aluminum-foil hat," Neville said matter-of-factly. "So crazy Harry can't read my mind. You should be wearing one too, if you know what's good for you!"  
  
"I'm god with this, thanks," said Fred, tapping his rusted strainer.  
  
"Diddo, mate," said George, tipping his tupperware like a top hat.  
  
"Take that ridiculous thing off yeh head!" Lee snapped at Neville.  
  
"Why, though?" came an arrogant drawl. "I'm rather fond of it, actually."  
  
All Weasley's whipped around. "MALFOY?!?"  
  
"You know ." Malfoy smirked, "I love the sound of my own name, I must admit. However, " he sighed, "business before pleasure, I fear ."  
  
"Yeah?" snarled Ron, raising his wand and eyebrows.  
  
(the latter is more dangerous, I fear)  
  
"I hear you hunt Potter this eve, gentlemen," Malfoy addressed Fred and George, who appeared to be the leaders of the Horde.  
  
"Meah . true, true," Fred said, nodding curtly with each "true."  
  
"Mind if I join?"  
  
"Hold up a tick . we hate you, you hate us ." George spluttered.  
  
"Why?" Fred demanded of Malfoy.  
  
"These."  
  
Malfoy pulled massive weapons, resembling Muggle firearms, that glowed faintly green and hummed softly.  
  
"You're-you're in." George stammered, taking a "gun" in his hand.  
  
"Welcome to The Convivial Hunting Horde!"  
  
Malfoy took a cast iron frying pan to the head-Fred let out a squeal of glee.  
  
A/N: More to come after I move up to school! Hope you like it! Please Review if you haven't already done so-suggestions are welcome! (well, anything is welcome, really .) 


	5. Yoinkage

"Don't Let Him Out: A Farce"  
  
A rant by; Adelphia Savanya Moore`  
  
~inspired by John Cleese in "Fawlty Towers" (episode 10: The Anniversary)~  
  
Rating: PG-13 (abuse of Mrs. Skower's, Parry Hwotter's foul mouth)  
  
Written: Aug 16th, 2003  
  
Summary: Exactly what the title sounds like .  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own them in a box, I do not own them with a fox, I do not own them while I'm bowling, they all belong to (that evil) J.K. Rowling. I also don't own Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover (though I would be VERY POPULAR if I did . you'll get that later!), but I DO OWN the Convivial Hunting Horde, Fred's strainer, and the word "dollop" when used as a verb. Have Fun! . Or not, or not .  
  
((*singing*)) I'm sitting next to an okama! Living in an all girl's dorm!"  
  
Yoinkage  
  
The large black frying pan sliced through the air with years of  
withheld yearning.  
  
*THHWAAAAANNG!!!*  
  
It made contact with Malfoy's skull, and he slumped to the  
floor, completely unconscious. Neville emitted a loud squeak, and jumped  
backwards, onto Lee's foot. Lee swore worse that Hwotter in chapter 1,  
but no one really heard him over Gred and Forge's neurotic giggling.  
  
Fred tip-toed over to Malfoy's now twitching body. He wrenched  
the largest of the weapons from Malfoy's clammy hands, whispering "This  
is mine, now!"  
  
Each member of the Convivial Hunting Horde followed suit (Ron  
had to get Neville's gun, as the poor child possessed the mortal fear of  
Malfoy, even when knocked out of his right mango-ness), and before long,  
the crew was off on safari.  
  
A/N: Sorry that this one is so short! I planned out the last chapters  
(there will be 8), and this one just came out short-the up-coming  
chapters are my greatest masterpieces yet, though, so don't be put off .  
next posting within 28 hours, I swear!  
  
(followers, I've changed my e-mail, take a look. You'll laugh. Really  
hard.)  
  
P.S.) Homosexual Hedgehogs are coming!  
  
P.S.S.) and the severe desire for girl-scout cookies!  
  
P.S.S.S.)and, as requested, the pree-chewed-toast-goo!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Thank you for reading, have nice day. 


	6. The Munchies

"Don't Let Him Out: A Farce"  
  
A rant by; Adelphia Savanya Moore`  
  
~inspired by John Cleese in "Fawlty Towers" (episode 10: The Anniversary)~  
  
Rating: PG-13 (abuse of Mrs. Skower's, Parry Hwotter's foul mouth)  
  
Written: Aug 16th, 2003  
  
Summary: Exactly what the title sounds like .  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own them in a box, I do not own them with a fox, I do not own them while I'm bowling, they all belong to (that evil) J.K. Rowling. I also don't own Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover (though I would be VERY POPULAR if I did . you'll get that later!), but I DO OWN the Convivial Hunting Horde, Fred's strainer, and the word "dollop" when used as a verb. Anyone who went to Marshall in Duluth will understand the song that Peeves and Harry are singing. I did not write it.  
  
Since I can't use the "dot, dot, dot's" (because the system won't pick them up), I will now be using - - - - - - - or ------------- , because it is fun, and I can, because I'm a girl and I feel like it. There.  
  
Now . - . - I look, out the window  
  
And I see - - the little children - - riding their bikes  
  
Down the street - - screaming - - wait up!  
  
Wait Up!!  
  
WAIT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Dave Eggers, great man, that Eggers)  
  
Munchies  
  
"Look up." Hwotter belted.  
  
"Her dress!" Peeves.  
  
Their voices echoed across the hall, drifting through the corridors, towers, turrets, and dungeons of Hogwarts. (why the hell would Hogwarts have turrets? Oh, well!)  
  
"Look up."  
  
"Her dress!"  
  
"Look up!"  
  
"Her dress!"  
  
"It can be arranged!" Another voice entered the round. The voice of the Bloody Barron. He pulled out a hip flask and drank deeply from it, belching loudly as he twisted the cap back on and replaced it in his blood-strewn robes. Apparently, Mrs. Skowers was a very OLD wizarding brand, and (as the Barron taught Peevsie and Hwotter) serves as an excellent chaser to Odgen's Old Fire whiskey.  
  
"Look up!"  
  
"Her dress!"  
  
"It can be arranged!"  
  
Later, the boys became a little hungry. This hunger grew, and grew, and grew and grew and grew, until they were in full-fledged "binge- mode." They fled to the kitchens.  
  
~ * ~ * ~  
  
"COOOOOOOOOOOOO-K-EEEEEEEEEEEEZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!!!!!"  
  
(translation: "cookies!")  
  
Hwotter, Peevsie, and the Barron arrived at the kitchens, greeted by the elves.  
  
"Would you care for some tea, sirs?" one chimed.  
  
"Or, perhaps a crumpet?" inquired another.  
  
Thirty or more elves came running at Parry with the largest platter they could find, covered in a treacherous stack of cookies that reached nearly to the ceiling. Hwotter pounced.  
  
"Winky, wake up! Harry Potter has come to see us! Winky!" Dobby screeched feebly into Winky's drooped ears, - - which suddenly perked up at the smell of something --------- odd.  
  
Several of the elves had come back from their break- a new thing that Dumbledore had instituted to give the elves time to rest and plan meals. However, several elves had returned from break smelling rather odd, and hiccup-ing. Winky's ears perked up a bit more.  
  
"We brought you back something, Winky," one of the hiccup-ing elves muttered, passing Winky a fairly large bottle of an amber-colored liquid.  
  
"And here's one for you, too, Dobby," and Dobby was passed another bottle, equally large. All the elves started laughing and hiccupping, and so on - - - - - - -  
  
"Odgen's! Me 'ole friend!" The Baron shouted. "'ERE!" He added, snatching a mug from a near-by elf and filling it from his 2 quart jug of Mrs Skower's Magical Mess Remover. "Enjoy!" He handed the mug to Dobby, who sipped it tentavely- - - - - - -  
  
~ * ~ 45 minutes Later ~ * ~  
  
"WOAH!" Hwotter yelled as he crowd-surfed two and a quarter feet above the kitchen floor. It was an absolute elf orgy.  
  
There was a piercing scream from somewhere near the fireplace.  
  
"The homosexual hedgehogs! The homosexual hedgehogs! The homosexual hedgehogs are coming to gnaw on our noses! The homosexual hedgehogs are coming! The homosexual hedgehogs are coming!!!"  
  
"The homosexual hedgehogs! The homosexual hedgehogs! Oh, me, oh, my! The homosexual hedgehogs, oh, my!"  
  
Hwotter was dropped onto the concrete floor as the orgy population surged for the kitchen door. They slammed the door behind them.  
  
The door opened again. Peevsie soared in, sniffed the air for any trace of homosexual rodents, then snatched up the platter of Girl Scout Cookies, and bolted.  
  
A/N: Still to come is the pre-chewed-toast-goo! The next few chapters will be out mere hours after this one! Wait up! Seriously! Yeah! Do it! (or not, or not . ) =) 


	7. Do You Not See The Penguins?

"Don't Let Him Out: A Farce"  
  
A rant by; Adelphia Savanya Moore`  
  
~inspired by John Cleese in "Fawlty Towers" (episode 10: The Anniversary)~  
  
Rating: PG-13 (abuse of Mrs. Skower's, Parry Hwotter's foul mouth)  
  
Written: Aug 16th, 2003  
  
Summary: Exactly what the title sounds like .  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own them in a box, I do not own them with a fox, I do not own them while I'm bowling, they all belong to (that evil) J.K. Rowling. I love penguins and homosexual hedgehogs. I also don't own Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover, but I DO OWN the Convivial Hunting Horde, Fred's strainer, the Opium Rainbow Posse, the loud, angry, Japanese Techno in my armpit, and the word "dollop" when used as a verb. I love penguins. Jovial.  
  
Now: I have never been so tired.  
  
You: Have no idea how tired I am. (again, I love Dave Eggers. Great man.)  
  
Do You Not See The Penguins?  
  
Peevsie tripped, sending an avalanche of cookies and a razor-sharp  
discus, formally known as the kitchen's largest platter, hurtling through  
the air towards the front of the Opium Rainbow Posse. (that's what I'm  
calling them. Parry Hwotter is their leader. Their arch enemy is the  
homosexual hedgehogs, you see?)  
  
Hwotter heard the powdered cookies coming a mile away, because Mrs.  
Skower's can do funny things to the hearing when undiluted. But diluted  
is not fun. Hwotter heard the gingerbread men a-marching, and needed an  
extra burst of speed to escape. He grabbed Dobby around the neck,  
wrenched a spare broomstick out of his ass, and flew on down the hall as  
the Thin mints and Samoas smothered the Elvin-army.  
  
Hwotter saw something on the ground up ahead, and jumped off his broom to  
get a closer look. Unfortunately, his broom kept going, and impaled Mrs.  
Norris at the end of the corridor. She twitched, coughed up a green,  
smoky, powder-ish substance, and then tipped over, thoroughly dead.  
  
Hwotter paused, looking through his legs to get a better view of the  
thing that lay wilted on the floor. He had no idea what it was, - - - so  
he put a funnel into its mouth and poured in some Mrs. Skowers - - -  
because Mrs. Skowers never hurt anything - - - - - - -  
  
The thing entered into twitchy convulsions - - - so Parry sat on its  
middle, and several of the house elves who had survived the avalanche  
began to aid him. Peevsie threw chunks of mushy Trefoils (like butter  
cookies) soaked in god-knows-what at the thing, and the Barron drifted  
back and forth through it, replacing the jug of Mrs. Skowers with a fresh  
one once the first had been emptied.  
  
The thing gave a loud gasp, and bloodshot eyes jolted open.  
  
Everyone backed away, cringing.  
  
The Malfoy cringed, too, moving backwards, huddling against the corridor  
wall and furrowing its eyebrows mistrustingly. It belched loudly,  
screamed (seeing that the sudden, echoing noises scared it), and was then  
still, staring off - - - through the Bloody Barron - - - - - down the  
hallway - - - watching the - - - - - - - - -  
  
"RUN!" It bellowed, bolting off and down. "DO YOU NOT SEE THE  
PENGUINS?!?!?" And it continued to run.  
  
They turned .  
  
And saw.  
  
It was, indeed, the penguins. Large, larger than life. Purple, pink, red,  
orange, but only those colors-the worst ones to see. They wore fleece,  
multi-colored jester hats, and wore black, play boy bunny slippers. They  
were horrible.  
  
Worst of all - - - they had remote-controlled tanks! Heinous little  
camouflaged tanks with roman candles and thumb tacks and turrets and - -  
- - - - - oh, my!  
  
They ran.  
  
A/N: the toast-goo has been saved for this next and final chapter, which  
will also feature the return of the Convivial Hunting Horde, and the  
absolution of the Opium Rainbow Posse. It will be fun. I swear. But  
only if you review ! MOOOO-AAAHHHHHH-HHHAA-HHHHAAAA-ha! (dollop) 


	8. HomoErotic Urges

"Don't Let Him Out: A Farce"  
  
A rant by; Adelphia Savanya Moore`  
  
~inspired by John Cleese in "Fawlty Towers" (episode 10: The Anniversary)~  
  
Rating: PG-13 (abuse of Mrs. Skower's, Parry Hwotter's foul mouth)  
  
Written: Aug 16th, 2003  
  
Summary: The final episode. Plenty of Mrs. Skowers to go 'round.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own them in a box, I do not own them with a fox, I do not own them while I'm bowling, they all belong to (that evil) J.K. Rowling. I love penguins - - - and homosexual hedgehogs. I also don't own Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover, but I DO OWN the Convivial Hunting Horde, Fred's strainer, the Opium Rainbow Posse, the loud, angry, Japanese Techno in my armpit, Auto-Kadarvra, the foxy-ness of Ron's eyebrows, the broom that killed Mrs. Norris, all gallon jugs of Mrs. Skower's, Rufus Wainwright's bed, and the word "dollop" when used as a verb. I love penguins. Jovial.  
  
Mr. Johnson (my English teacher, a 47 year old white male with blonde hair, a wife, and two young children): "Oh, I wish I were a black woman!!!"  
  
I also have a roommate from Austria, and her nickname I Esa.  
  
Esa: Fuck you. Fuck the phone. Fuck me. Fuck my boyfriend, and FUCK AUSTRIA!!!  
  
Me: And I'll fuck Rufus Wainwright. There.  
  
Esa: Problem solved. BANG! (she slams the phone back onto the receiver)  
  
And now, without further adu, I give to you - - - - - - -  
  
Homo-Erotic Urges  
  
Malfoy, who was now referring to himself as "The Whacked," pronounced  
"The Whack-ed," was in the lead of the Opium Rainbow Posse. Parry  
Hwotter was a-dollop-ing on right behind The Whack-ed, occasionally  
stepping on his heels. The wailing of the penguins could be heard  
getting closer and closer and closer and closer and - - - - - - -  
  
"I'm going to get you, my git-ies!"  
  
~ * ~ * ~ Convivial Hunting Horde ~ * ~ * ~  
  
Fred, in Crocodile Hunter voice, "Nawh, - - - we're closing in on the  
specimen. See how strangely it runs? That's an after-effect of the  
cookies they left a trail of. I never thought the house elves would  
give away our recipe - - -"  
  
"Stupid dirty goats!" George interjected.  
  
"Quiet you!" Fred smacked him upside the head with a wooden spoon that  
he had produced from somewhere inside Neville's ass. "Can't you see  
I'm in the middle of a soliloquy?"  
  
"Sorry, mate." George cowered. The power, stress, and responsibility  
of being a natural-born leader was turning Fred into a right  
dominatrix. Luckily/Thankfully, he had Lee Jordan to take it out on  
later on in the evening - - -  
  
"Anyway - - - we're closing in on Potter now. He appears to have a bit  
of company, which I believe to be ickle Peeves and one of the ghosts.  
He also appears to have roused a few drunken elves. There's also one  
more bloke in the lead, but I just can't make out who it - - -"  
  
"FILCH!!!" Ron bellowed, and jumped out of the suit of armor that he  
was hiding in.  
  
"Shut up, you stupid fuck!" Lee Jordan lifted the arm of the suit he  
was disguised in, which happened to be holding a mace. "Get back in  
here before we're discover- - -"  
  
But then Jordan, too, jumped out of his suit and bolted down the  
corridor after Ron's retreating backside. Fred and George peered down  
the corridor, and sew, to their absolute horror - - - - - - -Filch.  
He was holding a broomstick with something floppy stuck to the end of  
it. He was huffing and puffing, and heading straight for them - - - -  
- - - - -  
  
~ * ~  
  
Neville was already passing up Ron as he ran, "pumped up" by pure  
adrenaline and fear. They could hear Filch yelling from the other end  
of the hall, "I'm gunna get you for my kitty!"  
  
Ron could see a lump of elves cowering at the end of the hallway. Some  
eerie green light was coming from a window at the end of the corridor.  
He couldn't make out what it was, but he knew it couldn't be good.  
Anything green was never good. Unfortunately, his insatiable  
curiosity made him draw closer.  
  
There was a rushing and a howling as a figure was materializing from  
the window. A bald head, big red eyes - - - flowing black robes, a  
high, cruel, mirthless laughter came from the window as cold, pale  
feet hit the floor, and with a soft "whoosh" were covered by a dark  
cloak. He began to revolve slowly and materialize from his semi-  
translucent form. The elves tipped over as one in a dead swoon.  
Peevsie fell out of the air, and Hwotter stood dumbstruck. Malfoy  
just stood there with his head cocked to the left, a line of drool  
going down his chin. It was Mr. Riddle. At Last. Riddle-san.  
  
(You were wondering when he was going to show up, weren't you? Well, I  
figured, "It's the climax of the fateful tale! And it's not a Harry  
Potter climax without Tommy, now, is it?" I figured, "I'd go out with  
a bang! Whee! Fun-fun!")  
  
Fred, George, Lee, and Neville came charging in right behind Ron.  
Neville passed out, but nobody caught him, because he doesn't have  
breasts; and Fred, George, and Lee only catch swooning bodies with  
breasts. So there. Ha. No breasts for Neville Longbottom. Concussion.  
  
Just then, Hermione, who had been trailing the Convivial Hunting Horde  
the entire time, came bursting through a tapestry on a side wall, 30  
feet from Hwotter and Riddle-san. Filch came puffing and huffing down  
the corridor in a towering rage, waving his impaled cat hysterically.  
  
Riddle pushed a button on his wand, and he stopped revolving. The  
green light surrounding him shot out like lightning and struck Filch.  
He dropped to the ground.  
  
Ron's eyebrows went up, up, up - - - beyond his hairline.  
  
The Riddle-slut looked over at Ron and - - - there was something about  
those eyebrows. Something that made him stir - - - in his pants. "Oh,  
GOD,- - - - - - - THOSE EYEBROWS!!!" He thought orgasmic-ly. He  
paused, sending a simpering look Ron's way. He was SSSOOOOOOOOO  
turned on right now -------  
  
"NOOOO!" He screamed. He couldn't let his Homo-erotic urges stop him  
from killing potter, like they had every other time! He couldn't let  
the movement in his pants distract him! This was not the time for homo-  
erotic pleasure.  
  
Ron's jaw dropped. His eyebrows came back down - - - and furrowed - -  
-  
  
"AAARGG!" Riddle-san brought his fist to his head to clear it.  
Unfortunately for him. He had is wand in his hand. It poked him in the  
eye. But, even more unfortunately for him, his wand was on Auto-  
Kadarvra at the time, and hilled him.  
  
Hwotter wins.  
  
THE END  
  
~ * ~  
  
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A/N: Good? I have an Idea for a follow-up. Tell me if you'd like it.  
Hope you've enjoyed! Luv, ASM` 


End file.
